My grandfather had weakness about the birds and the trees;
On setting in the rainy season sowed seeds into the earth,
Dreamt those would be sprouted in no time and grown up..
On the branches of those the birds would build nest, lay eggs..
The World would be full of verdant trees and beautiful birds,
And would be a heavenly garden; desirable own abode of God...
I am down and out fellow, a frivolous, a woodcutter, a fouler
An incompetent, always my arrow was wide of the mark;
So, heirloom of my grandfather is my ultimate wealth...
Day after day my covetous nimble wallowed blood-anointed hands
Effortlessly about to plunder the divine crops of the world...
A headstrong doesn't care a hang the foreboding of a thunder-crash...
A wonderful poem and needless to say I salute your grandfather.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Old is always gold. They always think about future. Great salute to your grandfather.